


Mrs. Smith's Special

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beefy Derek, Bottom Derek, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Chubby Derek Hale, Comeplay, Domestic Fluff, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Thicc Derek, Weight Gain Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 18:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: There have been a multitude of other reasons in the past as to why he’s wanted to crawl in a hole, but he’s not going to let this streak of good eating and feeling comfortable ruin it for him.It’s not like Stiles isn’t constantly all over him, probably more than he was at the beginning. His reactions to danger haven’t slowed, nor are his senses dulled. Just a few extra pounds, that’s all.





	Mrs. Smith's Special

**Author's Note:**

> don't look at me like that, I know what I did

The sound of Stiles’ jeep rumbling to a stop in front of the house has Derek’s heart picking up much, much faster than the sound of an engine should. Maybe it’s Pavlovian, because that noise means  _ Stiles.  _ Whom he is excited to see. Yeah, absolutely. The whole containment of the excitement thing just gets away from him sometimes. He’s getting better, he promises.

He doesn’t really count how long they’ve been a thing, either. Just that they  _ are.  _ And the rest of the pack is out doing other things tonight, so it’s just Stiles. No one else. In  _ his  _ house, not Stiles. Where Derek has a much, much bigger bed and he doesn’t have to get dressed again after sex when he gets up for a piss. Comforts of your own home and all that, he supposes.

Derek brings his beer with him as he makes his way to the door, unlocking it and swinging it open right as Stiles reaches the door, an overnight bag in one hand and the other raised towards the door knob. He smiles big, like Derek can’t fathom at times that someone  _ is  _ smiling at him like that. He’s not done all that much in his life to earn that sort of reaction people and yet… there’s Stiles, coming in the door and getting Derek by the front of his shirt, reeling him in for a kiss.

There was a time where that sort of unprompted touch would have been bad, bad news. Now it’s habit, a natural part of his day, and yes, a good part of that day is spent thinking about Stiles’ mouth. Sometimes on his, sometimes other places. Whatever. Stiles is enthusiastic about every kiss, and this one’s no different.

Derek does at least draw him in to close the door before he lets it finish, Stiles dropping his bag to get his hands on his hips. Which totally don’t sport lovehandles now, nor does the shirt he’s wearing feel tighter than it should across his belly. It’s wintertime, he’s  _ supposed  _ to be… gaining. No, it has nothing to do with him being  _ comfortable and soft for Stiles. _

Stiles is two seconds away from putting his tongue in Derek’s mouth when he pulls away, murmuring “Derek - did you bake a fucking pie?”

Derek swallows, frowning because he very definitely was not done with Stiles’ mouth yet. “How broadly are we using the term baking?”

“Well, it smells like apple and pastry, so how else can it be interpreted?” Stiles goes to the kitchen, Derek close behind. “I didn’t know you could bake.”

So what if it’s just one of those frozen ones from the grocery store, they’ve always done the trick in the past. And… maybe Derek finished one all by himself last week. It was a craving. It’s not like he buys them  _ often,  _ not really, just he’d wanted the sugar high, the flaky pastry. And he knew that Stiles was coming over today, so getting another one hadn’t been a stupid move or anything. He can put it away, just like any growing guy can. 

And it’s not like Derek didn’t work out this morning, either. He did. He does.

“Yeah, I’m full of surprises, mostly that my oven works.” Derek uncovers it where it’s sitting on the counter, residual heat wafting up with the scent of cinnamon as the towel gets lifted away. Stiles  _ whimpers,  _ which does things to Derek, really… nice things. “You gonna be mad if I told that Mrs. Smith made this one?”

“Well… as entertaining as the idea of your bare ass in an apron is, no. Not really. Can we uh, have some?” Stiles is still hovering, all excited heat and clean body, still smelling like the pine soap that Derek left at his house a couple weeks ago. Because he  _ needs  _ Stiles to smell like him. “Please?”

“Ice cream’s in the freezer.”

Stiles dishes out two healthy sized bowls and carries them to the den while Derek brings the pie, eyes on Stiles’ whipcord muscled back and sinewy arms, obvious even in the long sleeve thermal shirt he’s wearing. He’s filled out in a way that Derek originally didn’t know was possible, and… there’s power there. New, still honing, but it’s there. Stiles is  _ growing,  _ and Derek’s into it.

“Promise I already ate dinner, so you’re not feeding me pie as a meal replacement or anything.” Stiles sits with his legs in Derek’s lap, close but not too close, warm in a way that makes contentment settle in Derek’s chest. “Not that you seem worried or anything.”

Derek swallows his mouthful and watches Stiles lick sugar off of his fingers. It isn’t hot, it isn’t, but it’s Stiles’ fingers in his mouth and Derek’s a sucker for it. Oral fixation. Just. Too much, and Stiles probably isn’t wholly conscious of it either. Maybe he is, and he’s doing it in way that deliberately seems covert or unaware.

“I’m not. Eat what you want, Stiles, just so long as I don’t end up finishing it off myself.”

“Looks like you already have.”

It doesn’t come out mean. But. Self-consciousness flares up and colors Derek’s cheeks. It’s not like Stiles doesn’t seem him naked regularly. 

But he’s not brought up Derek’s… additions before now. 

“Just eat your pie, Stiles.” Derek is  _ allowed  _ to let himself go a little if wants too, dammit. Being in the peak of physical shape requires a hell of a lot of work and alright, when Stiles is always wanting to go out, or sees something delicious, Derek has a hard time saying no, because Stiles wants it. And it’s rude to not participate.

But no more tonight, because Derek doesn’t need to feel bad about himself, not now. There have been a multitude of other reasons in the past as to why he’s wanted to crawl in a hole, but he’s not going to let this streak of good eating and feeling  _ comfortable  _ ruin it for him. 

It’s not like Stiles isn’t constantly all over him, probably more than he was at the beginning. His reactions to danger haven’t slowed, nor are his senses dulled. Just a few extra pounds, that’s all.

The dishes get set on the coffee table, one of the  _ Die Hard  _ movies playing on the screen. Stiles has a blanket over him, laying on Derek’s chest, curled up close under his chin and his hand lying over Derek’s right pec. Well. It’s still a pec, just with a little less definition. Whatever.

“I didn’t mean anything, earlier.”

Derek had settled into the quiet around so deeply that the sound of Stiles’ voice startles him a little. “I know you didn’t.”

“No, Derek, you looked… it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Promise. I still have the fucking hots for you.” He looks up, sugar still on his lips around around his mouth. “You almost look approachable now.”

Derek snorts, because of course he’s got to qualify his damn complement. “Almost?”

“Well, most guys that good looking and muscular are kind of a jerk. And you were. Still are, sometimes, but… I don’t know, I like knowing that you enjoy pie.” Stiles leans in and kisses him, hand still on his chest, tasting like eagerness and sugar and sweetness, things that make Derek want to lay out and just indulge in him.

Stiles’ tongue gets in his mouth and just the way he does it, so honest about what he wants, it makes Derek’s wolf stretch and preen with desire, the only possible thing he would want right now. It makes him roll Stiles over on top of them, the blanket tangled up in their legs and halfway off, shirts riding up so that skin’s touching and warming. 

“Enjoy lots of things, Stiles.” Derek’s going for his shirt, fingers sliding up under the hem and skirting over Stiles’ smooth back. He doesn’t have to see him to know where the star map of moles and freckles leads, most of them memorized well enough that he can trace a path from each one. Stiles hums, pushes Derek’s jaw open a little wider with his tongue, hips grinding, slow, suggestive, his dick hard and trapped up in his jeans. Derek’s right there with him and fuck, they need more room, lube, just… a lot of things that aren’t here in the den. The trouble is moving, because it’s safe and warm and he’s full of pie and Stiles is on top of him, a solid weight that Derek’s starting to like having around full fucking time. Well. Not  _ full  _ time, but enough.

One little shift is all it takes for Stiles to be pressing down on his bladder, and really, now?

“Need to…” Derek pushes at Stiles gently, and he slides back, lazy in his motions, grabbing a handful of ass as Derek tries to walk and adjust his erection at the same time. “Bedroom.”

“Meet you there.” Stiles snags him for a kiss on the way, and heads up the stairs. Derek uses the downstairs half-bath, sugar high and looking at himself in the mirror. His cheeks are definitely fuller too, jawline softened. No way to hide that, except his beard. Not that he needs it, but… having that security blanket is nice. He lifts up his shirt as he pisses (hard to do with a boner, but it’s either go now or be uncomfortable later) and looks, close, down at his body. He’s still covered in hair, but his stomach’s lost the definition in his abs. He knows that they’re still under there, just… they aren’t obvious. 

He needs to go, seeing as it’s rude to keep Stiles waiting, and it’s not like his erection has flagged at all. He doesn’t even know what he wants to do with Stiles, just that  _ naked  _ is the requirement and that’s really it, for the time being. Derek doesn’t bother tucking himself away, and by the time he gets to his room, he’s down to just socks and underwear. 

Stiles is already spread out on his bed, one hand behind his head and stretching his lean body out, pit hair dark, tempting, too damn perfect for what it is. Up and down his hand is going on his cock, leaking, heavy with blood, the thick scent of arousal pushing the coldness out of his bedroom. Derek really can’t help stopping and staring for a few seconds, knows Stiles is watching him back. He puffs up his chest, gives his dick a few long, indulgent drags. Stiles’s gaze drops to where his foreskin swallows up the head, an endless source of fascination that Derek deliberately plays up. 

“Get your beefy ass over here.” Stiles licks his lips, hungry for cock or really, truly, whatever Derek gives him. He’s so infectiously enthusiastic, the spasmodic side of him turned down a few notches to focus, receive, give - Derek loves that about him.

“It’s not  _ beefy. _ ”

“Oh, yes it is. Now come on.” Stiles gets up on his knees as Derek reaches the side of the bed and pulls him in, body hot and fitted obnoxiously well against Derek’s, hands on his ass and hips as he gets him down the mattress and puts them right back in the same position that they were in on the couch. Because apparently being on bottom is okay now, and Derek shoos his wolf away, belly up in his mind and receiving the equivalent of the best belly scratch in the world. 

Stiles’ hands roam over his body, sunk into another kiss, resuming that same slow, easy grinding motion. He can tell when Stiles is in a more submissive mood and tonight is not fucking it, and Derek  _ wonders,  _ tries to get a read on Stiles’ thoughts. What it is he wants. Frotting isn’t anything new, but the way Stiles is doing it, with a measured touch of control, of assuredness - it has Derek’s curiosity burning at terminal velocity. 

“Derek.” 

Not a question, just a request for attention.

“Listening, babe.” God, how couldn’t he right now?”

“Been thinking, and I want to try something. I can’t get your fucking ass out of my head and… fuck, I wanna eat you the hell out.” Stiles isn’t begging, not quite demanding, but the want pings hot and loud in his tone. Complete honestly, maybe a little nervous too.

Derek kisses him for another minute, giving himself time to think. This isn’t a line they’ve crossed before, not really. Sure, Stiles grabs his ass all the time, holds onto it when Derek fucks him hard and fast - but it’s been a pretty hard understanding that anything below his balls is by permission only. Stiles hasn’t so much as tried to slip a  _ finger  _ when he’s blowing him, much less a tongue.

“You can tell me stop if you don’t like it, I promise.”

“Haven’t tried it before, so I don’t know what I’ll say.” Derek’s eaten out Stiles plenty of times now, and… maybe he’s intrigued. A lot. Especially since Stiles called it “beefy” and it’s entirely of his own making. Maybe indulging, if it gets Stiles wanting to do that to  _ him,  _ isn’t such a bad thing.

Stiles gives him a thoughtful look, fingers running through Derek’s hair. “Turn over for me.” He doesn’t sound like he’s leaving room for protest, and he smells so fucking  _ good,  _ so ready, that Derek doesn’t hesitate a moment. 

He doesn’t turn his back to lovers, not since… well, ever. Stiles can’t hurt him as badly as others, but it still takes a big fucking gulp of courage to do as Stiles asks, and when the hand presses down on the small of his back to make him lower all the way, he comes close to flinching. Immediately there’s a soothing kiss between his shoulder blades, down his spine, a hand under him to stay around his dick, more for an anchor point that direct stimulation. Stiles’ breath is hot and close, gusting in little puffs over the exposed spread of his ass. Stiles doesn’t smack, just grabs, kneads, one cheek and then the other,  _ goddamn  _ repeated over and over again.

Derek doesn’t mind so much when he lets go of his cock and uses both hands to keep him spread, probably needing as little contact as possible to keep himself from flying apart hard and fast. Nothing can really prepare him for this, the hot, wet drag of Stiles’ tongue over his hole - and the noise that comes out of him when Stiles  _ does,  _ Jesus fucking  _ Christ,  _ if he wasn’t so ludicrously turned on, he probably still wouldn’t be embarrassed.

“You have a fucking  _ badonkadonk,  _ Derek, sorry, it’s….” Stiles doesn’t even bother to finish his own thought, jumping right in, jaw and lips scraping over skin that’s not been touched before. His tongue, fucking hell, his tongue is  _ magic,  _ doubly that as when it’s under his foreskin. Derek whimpers, raises his hips, pushes back against Stiles’ face. It’s decadent, the way heat shoots through his body, through every pore and cell. He feels his dick flex, knot swelling rapidly, precome pouring from his slit. 

Stiles gets his fingers wet with it, rubs it over Derek’s hole, pushes it in with his tongue. Derek moans again, takes over whatever Stiles aborted just then and strokes himself, trying to widen his stance further. It feels too good, too much, and he gets why Stiles is so loud when he does this. It’s a slow rolling fire, consuming, burning him up - and he loves every fucking second. He wants more, wants Stiles  _ deeper,  _ to be filled.

He doesn’t even stop to consider how big a red flag that is, then decides he doesn’t really care. It feels too good to just let end, and Derek’s reasonably sure that his fundamental nature won’t change because of it. Shame he can’t slick up on his own like an omega, but that’s the trade off for having a knot. Still has to do it the old fashioned way, and he can’t really move to get the lube right now. Stiles has him hooked with both arms around his thighs, pulled back flush to his face, tongue licking, swiping, opening - and Derek’s got to find a way to make it stop without making it stop.

“Stiles, babe, fuck… I… just slow down a fucking second.” He’s shattered to the point of his voice cracking, and Stiles, with a mournful sound, lets Derek crawl forward just enough to get the lube from under the pillow. He hands it off, hoping that his raised ass and needy whine is a clear enough indication as to what he wants.

_ Fuck my ass and fill me up, Stiles. _

“Derek, you sure? I don’t… you’re not….”

Derek turns over, looks Stiles right in the eye as he surges forward for a kiss, pulls them back down. He tastes himself, musky, dark, tastes some errant, sugary hint that apparently hasn’t left their palates yet, either. “No, I’m not kidding. I trust you.”

Stiles nods, and Derek does an admirable job of not shying away as the cold lube touches his hole. He still has Stiles’ warm spit down there, so it helps a little bit.

But  _ only _ a little bit.

“Derek, relax - just fingers right now.” Stiles does another one of those soothing kisses, this time on his neck, then up to his ear. “So fucking much of you to love on, I don’t even feel like this is enough.”

“You really gotta stop mentioning my weight, babe.”

“Nope, not gonna. Anything that gives me more of you is perfectly fine with me.” Stiles works his finger in, slow at first, fucking in and out a little faster as he goes back to Derek’s mouth. It really is that simple for him, isn’t it? Like Derek’s not been pigging out without calling it pigging out, and all Stiles can see is  _ more of him to love on. _

Easy enough to just go with  _ more to love. _

Two, three fingers, and soon Derek’s good and stretched, moaning, begging on Stiles’ deft knuckles, unfairly talented in the things they’re capable of. Stiles stays with him the whole time and he thinks that this might be easier on his stomach, like he was before - but he wants to see Stiles’ face as he slides in, and it’s such a fucking hot thing to see when Derek does it to him.

“Fuck, c’mon Stiles, I’m ready.” He should be, as gaped as he feels right now. Not like Stiles has little fingers either, and… well, he’s glad that Stiles isn’t soda can thick. Just kinda sorta thick. Respectably average. 

Stiles nods, lubes himself up and gets a pillow to put under Derek’s hips, guiding himself with one hand in. After the cold lube, Stiles’ dick is blood warm and getting warmer, shoving in with a long thrust, toe-curling good, Derek’s knot swollen a hair further as he’s filled, right up against all the hyper-sensitive places inside him that make him an alpha. A drop of come pearls out and slides along the string of precome that’s connect his stomach to his dick, just because there’s some physics going on that he doesn’t want to try and wrap his head around at the moment.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Stiles hands go right to his hips, generous, plenty to hold on to, and he starts to thrust. Good, deep strokes of his hips that make Derek’s eyes roll back in his head. Okay, yes, he probably should have let Stiles do this sooner. Whatever. They’re doing it now, and it’s good, better than good,  _ life changing  _ good.

Derek groans as he strokes himself, feather light because anything more is gonna have him nailing the headboard and wall real goddamn quick. Stiles just digs his fingers in, bruises left and fading almost as fast, looking down at Derek, the way his chest bounces on every thrust, the sweat in his hair,  _ fuck, Derek, so hot, so goddamn beautiful for me, could look at you forever -  _ the praise spills quick and easy from his lips, cemented with biting, hot kisses that are only broken when Derek cries out for  _ more, harder, deeper. _

How the hell Stiles is holding on this long has Derek wondering what else he’s capable of, where exactly his hard limits are. Things he could do to find out.

“Close,” Stiles grunts, and he can feel it, the humming in his veins getting louder, heart pounding faster. Derek wraps his fingers around his dick and strokes, yanks Stiles in with his thighs and crashes their mouths together, a firm  _ inside me  _ setting Stiles off half a second later. He feels it, Christ, every fucking spurt, a flood deep in his guts that has Derek shooting and shooting, knot swelled against nothing but his fingers, come splattered between him and Stiles in places that it probably hasn’t been before - and Stiles doesn’t quit, keeps moving his hips until Derek finally has to shove him away, overcharged, raw to the bone, pulling back the start of a shift. So not what he needs right now, not at all, but… Christ, Stiles inside him has him fucked up in the best kind of way.

They lie there in silence for a long while, breath slowing, Derek’s leg thrown over Stiles, just enough contact to keep him from turning. Stiles doesn’t touch back, knowing exactly what’s up when that happens. It’s not the first time, but it’s been a while. Not like Derek was sure it would happen or anything, either.

His knot’s still pulsing, too, on the downhill side of his orgasm, come trickling onto his belly. He can’t even stand to touch it himself, but it doesn’t stop him from scooping some up off his belly and offering Stiles his finger.

“Flows a lot easier down your side, you know. Without your come gutters.” Stiles grins around the tip of his finger, and really, the remark is meant to be sweet. “Tastes like cinnamon.”

“The fuck it doesn’t.” Christ, if his dick is gonna start dispensing  _ sugar,  _ he’s never gonna be alone again. “You’re… not serious are you.”

Stiles leans over, licks the come up from Derek’s stomach and feeds it back to him, right off the end of his tongue and okay, yes it’s  _ mildly  _ sweet. Derek drags him back in, deep into the kiss, bucking when Stiles leg comes over and bumps his dick.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, arms and legs wrapping around Derek’s body. “Would pie help it feel better?”

“Pie’s what got us into this mess.” Fuck, Derek’s insides are probably re-arranged now, the  _ last  _ thing he needs is more.

“And I’d say it worked out pretty well. Come on, I’ll even feed it to you.”

In Derek’s defense, they  _ do  _ split just one piece this time.


End file.
